


the lover's embrace

by derekstilinski



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Boat Sex, Bottom Hank Anderson, Developing Relationship, First Time, Flirting, Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), M/M, MerMay, MerMay 2019, Non-Human Genitalia, Pining, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 14:11:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20175586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derekstilinski/pseuds/derekstilinski
Summary: Hank Anderson is somewhat of a local legend.Mostly because he didn't seem to exist until 20 years ago despite being much older than that. He's about the sea as much as you can get, spends long hours basically living on his boat. Man's a mariner, through and through. He works independently of any company or family business on his crab boat, and mainly sells to the restaurant inn on the docks for money and a room.Hank works alone. And Connor has just been assigned to his boat.





	the lover's embrace

**Author's Note:**

> This was a thread over on twitter! Finally posting it here, months later 😅

Hank Anderson is somewhat of a local legend.

Mostly because he didn't seem to exist until 20 years ago despite being much older than that. He's about the sea as much as you can get, spends long hours basically living on his boat. Man's a mariner, through and through. He works independently of any company or family business on his crab boat, and mainly sells to the restaurant inn on the docks for money and a room.

Hank works alone. And Connor has just been assigned to his boat, after a lot of nudging from worried mutual friends.

Connor's admired Hank for a while, sneaking glances, sliding into a game of cards. Hank doesn't talk much, tells a few odd stories when eats and socializes at the bar. He can be blunt too, gruffly asks Connor questions about why he got himself into the business as they're leaving. Connor bundles up and ships out on the water simply because he wanted a change of pace in life, and he realized he liked it.

He tells Hank as much, and Hank is surprisingly accepting of the answer. Just says "Heh. Yeah… me too." and he hefts a 30 pound sack over his shoulder like it's nothing, carrying it onto the boat.

They sail out and Connor sits on the deck after his work is done, eyes closed against the sun, feeling the spray of the sea against his face. He likes being out here, it feels good even when the job strains his muscles and can sometimes chill his bones with cold rain. But the sun is warm and sometimes he takes off his layers to enjoy the atmosphere.

He doesn't usually get much quiet on boats with other people. Usually rowdy, playing cards, singing along with the radio. Sometimes someone does a cannonball if they're feeling brave and wild. It's all good fun, but Connor enjoys this too. Hank moves around quiet at the helm, no radio or trying to carry a conversation. He leans out of the cockpit and offers a bag of jerky, and Connor takes some with a thankful smile. He's never had jerky with seaweed.

Day turns to night and when it's late, Hank reclines on deck to stare at the stars. Connor sits near him for a while, subtly taking in the man who is secretly spoken about as a mystery. Hank's beard is full and face worn with laugh lines, crinkles at the corners of his eyes. The brightest blue eyes, clear like the calm ocean. Connor can see strands of curled gray hair out from under Hank's hat but whatever else there is hidden underneath clothing. Most of Hank is hidden by clothing.

He plays the part of a salty older man well, gruff and grizzled from the sea. But when he looks off into the water, his face softens and he looks… longing. Appreciative.

When Connor can't keep his eyes open, he puts himself to bed below deck, letting the sway of the little boat lull him to sleep. It’s a light and dreamless sleep, but he’s always been lulled by the rock of a boat.

He wakes with a start less than three hours later, hearing and feeling the vibration of something heavy dropping on the upper deck. He almost goes back to sleep, but thinks of something on the boat breaking, or Hank getting in trouble. He tugs on his boots and pulls a sweater on over his tank top, rushing up to the upper deck. At first, he sees nothing out of place as he squints into the almost darkness. There's no storm, they're still anchored, nothing seems different.

And then he sees Hank.

His clothes are scattered on the deck nearby. He realizes the noise was the rail on the back of the boat reclining flat. Hank's sitting there on the edge, stripping off his shirt and blindly tossing it back onto the deck behind him. Connor swears his heart stops when Hank drops off the boat. The splash rings in his ears and he stumbles to the edge, dropping to his knees to try and see Hank under the water. He doesn't, it's all black as night with the moon behind the clouds.

"Holy shit. Hank?!" His brains fires with options; calling for help on the radio, finding lights, simply jumping in too. He feels like he kneels there forever, staring at the water. But it's only a few seconds in reality, before he decides to stagger up and run into the cockpit, turning on the big spotlight pointing at the back of the boat.

He's not thinking about how cold the water could be, how deep— endless. He's going in after Hank. They’re the only two here, he’s going after Hank. He kicks off his boots, throws off his sweater and the breeze isn't even cold against his skin thanks to the adrenaline. He's tugging his shirt off when there are loud bubbles off the side of the boat.

"Connor?" Hank's voice catches him by surprise. He gets stuck in his shirt trying to see his only crewmate. "What the fuck are you doin'?"

"What am I…?" Connor slams his shirt down on deck and peers down at Hank, who is unbothered and holding the side of the boat to keep the same rocking motion. He doesn't even look cold, no goosebumps, intricate tattoo spanning across his chest. "You jumped overboard!"

Hank stammers for a moment, squinting hard against the light. "It's my goddamn boat. Turn that light out! You should be asleep!"

"No!" Connor yells at him, panic still making a mess of his body, blood rushing in his ears. "What are you doing?! Are you… Are you trying to drown?"

"What? No!" Hank reaches up and shoves at Connor's shoulder. "Go back to bed, you little prick. I'm fine!"

"You're fine?!" Connor's voice cracks, breathing hard in distress. Hank's hand is rough against his skin, way more than he thought the first time they shook hands. Hank doesn't want to look at him. Connor shifts wildly to try and meet his eyes, and he sees Hank's eyes glint in the light. Like a cat. Like a fish. He pushes Hank's hand away, leaning further over the edge of the boat.

"Connor." Hank warns with a low growl. One slip and he falls headfirst. He almost expects it, which he hates. But he doesn't expect Connor's eyes to fall to his throat, or his fingers to reach out and push his hair away. It exposes the fleshy gills just below his ear, they flutter at the hand so close. He shoves Connor away and swims back like he's been burned.

Connor realizes he’s shaking, the night air finally reaching him all at once. Hair still wild from sleep and his eyes round as they stare out along Hank's body. Down his chest, the extra fat on his stomach, to where his tail is softly glowing. A less intense illumination now with the ship light on him, but there all the same. He dims it out immediately, putting out a warning hand, "Connor…"

"Holy shit." Connor whispers. He'd heard stories of course, mostly as a kid. Mermaids. Vibrant and beautiful in the sea, with flowing tails and long hair. Bedtime stories, about how helpful and shy and gorgeous they are. Spoken among the adults after, whispers overheard of 'I wish you didn't indulge him about the other kind again'.

More recently he'd heard it at the inn, people drunk and swearing after near death experiences that something saved their lives. Something in the water. Immediately padded as the shock and the drink working. But never unrespected, never explicitly said it was a crazy notion. Connor had always noticed.

He goes to push himself up, to stop staring at Hank until he freezes here on his hands and knees. But his fingers slip on a pool of salt water Hank had brought up with him, and his hand falls out from under him. He doesn't have time to even think before he's being caught, barely hitting the water before he's mostly up out of it again. He feels the incredible heat coming off Hank's body, and the way Hank pushes him back up onto the boat like he weighs nothing.

He's immediately trembling, curling up on the slippery deck. He scrambles to get his sweater, the wind chafing against his wet skin. Hank barks at him, "You're such a fucking idiot. Get those off, you're gonna freeze!"

Hank's pointing at his socks and pants, now entirely soaked. Connor shudders and does his best to sit up, hands freezing as he tries for the tie. Hank yanks him closer by his ankle, getting the tie for him and dragging them down, "Take mine. Take mine! Get into dry clothes, hurry up!"

Connor doesn't even have time to feel like a damn fool rolling around naked and wet on the deck of a boat. He drags on Hank's clothes and shoves his feet back into his boots, curling back up on a dry piece of deck. Hank is watching him with wide eyes and Connor knows he's doing exactly the same in return.

"You're the other kind." Connor says shakily, knees pulled to his chest.

Hank scoffs, bobbing softly in the water, "You're all the others to me."

Connor supposes that's true, isn't it? All this time, Hank's been among people unlike him. He must think they're so different. Even now, where he can handle the water and Connor can't. Connor's freezing where he's warm. He probably thinks that's ridiculous.

"Are you scared now? Gonna think I'm some sort of creature?" Hank asks, tone starting soft but ends a little bitter. He's had to hear a lot of whispers about his kind on the docks, anywhere between laughable and despicable.

Connor's face goes a little more red, as if he wasn't beet red from the water and wind already. "I was kind of scared of you before."

Hank doesn't expect that. It forces a shocked laugh out of him, tailfin twitching. "What?"

"You're big and intimidating, with a deep voice." Connor shrugs, but his whole body shakes.

"Thanks?" Hank snorts, realizing he's out of the woods on if Connor's laughable or despicable. He thinks he's alright here, Connor’s just… curious?

"Sorry. Those are good things. I like those things. I mean…" Connor sighs with his teeth jittering, not ready to deal with this in a hazy state of mind.

Hank looks at him for a long moment, with those reflective blue eyes and his face softer than usual. "Okay, bud." he says, and pulls himself up onto the deck with practiced care and ease.

Connor makes a noise involuntarily. The planes of Hank's wet back, muscles in his arms and shoulders, fading down into softness. Plush fat along Hank's sides, and when he turns there's the curve of his belly and a strong chest. It leads down and gradually along his hips, thicker skin and scales begin to gather. There's only one place bare, along a scar where Hank's thigh would be. With the scales gone, there’s speckled gray skin instead. Hank's tail is light gray at first glance, but iridescence plays in golds and blues when he shifts around. It's incredibly beautiful.

Hank glances at him as he leans over and drags a blanket used earlier off his seat, draping it heavy over Connor. "I know, it's a lot…"

"It's pretty." Connor whispers, bundling the blanket around his face. Hank's tail swishes, curling up under himself like he's embarrassed.

"No one's ever said that before." He mumbles, in a way that means he's not talking completely to Connor. He feels alright getting closer, making sure Connor's back is covered. Connor scoots closer for help.

Hank’s hand lies on Connor's shoulder, knowing the warmth seeps through when those shoulders slump, Connor kind of crumbling while he lets out a heavy sigh.

They stay there for a while, until Connor has it together enough where he can pull himself up and Hank's mostly dry. Connor is still trembling as he lumbers stiffly down the stairs, and his skin prickles when he hears Hank's footfalls starting to follow him down.

He doesn't turn around, his heart can't handle _ that_. But he freezes when Hank's hand curls around his shoulder, "Come into my cabin, it's got better heating."

Connor feels his stomach flutter but he's too chilled and exhausted to argue.

Hank's cabin is filled with soft things; pillows and blankets and a very soft rug under their feet. On his walls are trinkets in little window boxes, displayed like each one is precious. There's a lot of clutter, and Connor realizes they're probably things Hank's collected from the sea.

He stays in the middle of the room while Hank gets dressed, keeping his back to him and sneaking a glance in the reflection of the room's porthole. Hank's body looks incredible, flirting with shadows in the low light from the space heater. Hank leads him over, rearranges his heavy blankets and goes first. He lowers himself onto Hank's bed, his boots just sliding off his feet. He thinks how intimate it is, after this man being such a mystery.

Connor tries to stay at the edge of the bed, even though his body wants to melt out all the tension into the mattress. Hank gets comfortable against his pillows with his book and brings his arm around Connor to tug him over, "Don't get shy now, think we're suddenly past that. Just sleep."

Connor has little shame when he shoves his face against Hank's bare side, the softness and smell of sea water comforting. Hank doesn't flinch away from the cold of his nose and cheeks, just pats his back and settles in for the night.  


The morning comes and Connor feels sweat along his back, sandwiched between the warmth of Hank's body and the heater. He groans sleepily and pushes his face against the softness under his head, wanting to get more rest. It rises and falls with a sigh. He realizes his pillow is Hank's belly.

He lifts his head and Hank glances down at him, book still in hand. The sunlight through the porthole bathes his face and chest in gold. He looks like someone Connor wants to take down further into bed and he groans a little more strained now, "Did you even sleep?"

"Yeah, thanks for asking. Even with your bony-ass limbs pokin' at me." Hank tells him, flipping the page in his book.

Connor feels himself flush with embarrassment, "I'm sorry, I…"

Hank snorts quietly, "That's a joke. You are tiny though, I didn't realize until last night." he slides a finger to keep his place as he closes the book. "How's the chill? You don't feel sick, do you?"

He feels delightfully overheated, the salt of the sea water still clinging to his skin. Only a slight ache in his shoulder. "I'm okay… your cot's really comfortable."

"Oh." Hank smiles unexpectedly, adjusting one of his many blankets, "Yeah, s'gotta be. For my legs."

That makes a lot of sense. Hank's bed with multiple well-stuffed pillows, heavy quilts and patterned sheets. To keep his legs comfortable when he's used to being in the water without them. Connor finds himself smiling back, "I can understand that."

Hank levels him with a look, "You're pretty understanding. And… you care. Most wouldn't come up deck to check on an old man."

"You care, too." Connor counters easily, "I fell in and you… you kinda freaked out."

"You fell in. In night water. That's dangerous for your kind! Especially when you look like a damn popsicle." Hank argues, a little embarrassed.

"Hey! I'm saying I appreciate it. But we're not in the arctic, I'm alright." Connor pulls the neckline of Hank's borrowed shirt up from where it's plunging down his chest. "Don't gotta call me out."

Hank is quiet for a moment, then relaxes with a small huff. "Even after all these years, I… I never remember what's safe, temperature-wise." he brings an arm up to rub at the back of his neck, "Sorry. I panicked. And hey, you called me big, so I think I'm entitled to 'popsicle'."

Connor ducks his head, "I didn't mean it in a rude way, I swear."

He watches the color flush up on Connor's cheeks and feels his stomach flutter like he hasn't in a long while. "Wh…_ Oh_. Oh, I didn't… Oh wow."

Connor finally makes himself sit up, to stop brushing his chin against Hank's belly. "Y'know, I should uh, get dressed… Give you back your clothes, actually."

He untangles himself from the blankets, stumbling up to make a break for it. Hank smiles softly, fiddling with his book, "That's the second time you've said something new."

Connor pauses at the door, in Hank's slouchy clothes and asks softly, "Is that good?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it is."

Connor changes in his much cooler cabin, telling himself even though it's cold in here, he shouldn't bundle too much because the sun is out. He grabs a granola bar from his bag and runs his fingers through his hair, all saltwater curls.

When he comes out into the kitchenette, Hank's warming a small pot of crab soup on the stove. He eyes the granola hanging from Connor's mouth, "Is that sugar?"

"Somewhat." Connor talks around his mouthful. He sidles up near Hank, trying to chew quietly. His stomach growls at the smell of the soup hitting his nose. "Sorry. I won't leave the plastic behind, promise."

"I like sugar." He shakes his head, stirring the pot slowly. "I remember uh, years ago… a saltwater taffy pouch fell off a boat near where I was searching for rocks and… first time I ever had sugar."

Connor’s heart does something funny, listening to that. Hank just needed someone to open up to and now he's sharing. It makes him smile. "What was your favorite?"

"Strawberry. It was so different." Hank takes down two bowls and halves the pot, setting one in front of Connor.

Connor pulls off the wrapper and shoves it in his pocket, tearing the bar in half. He offers it over, soft granola and strawberry jam. "My favorite, too."

Hank gives him such a surprised smile, and he savors each bite. They go up deck and eat breakfast, the sun feeling good on their faces and it accents Hank's largely unbuttoned shirt. Connor stares but Hank stares back, so he doesn't feel bad about it.

"Okay," he asks, as he's drained the last of his bowl, "So, are you gonna do it again?"

Hank brushes at his beard with his sleeve, "Do it?"

Connor looks pointedly at the back of the boat, out onto the expanse of the ocean.

"Oh… Is that uh, an uncomfortable ask, or?" Hank fiddles with the button on his flannel cuff.

Connor gives a little smile, tilting his head. "No."

"'No'…” Hank repeats, an amused kind of disbelief. “Well, it's usually how I gather the crabs. I handpick each one, s’why they pay me so much for the quality. So.. yeah, I'd say I'd be going back out."

Connor feels his fingers tingle, so curious to see again. "Okay. What can I do to help?"

Hank gives him an odd look. He's not used to the attention, but it feels... freeing. He doesn’t know why it’s so easy to give in and let Connor help, but it is. "Uh, I guess you can hold the bucket."

All in all, Connor thinks he's never been so happy to do grunt work like simply holding the bucket. When it’s time a few hours later, Hank makes a show of getting undressed. It's a little cocky, like he’s indulging Connor’s excitement about it, a fun and silent ‘this is the moment you’ve been waiting for’. He pointedly shucks off his coat and throws it onto his deck chair, and he's certainly got the attention. Though Connor does a courtesy turn when Hank opens his belt.

It makes Hank laugh, "You know, nudity isn't a big thing where I'm from. Everybody's always turnin' away from each other here, covering up so much."

"What? No seashell bras?"

Hank laughs louder, "No way in hell! Why would anyone?"

Connor rubs the back of his neck, grinning at his boots, "You'd rather I looked at you, then?"

"This is what I get for letting a human around."

"That wasn't a no."

Hank sighs, playfully exasperated, and a moment later Connor hears him sink into the water.

Connor turns and crouches down, more careful this time around the back of the boat. Hank pops up after about a minute, allowing Connor to take a look. The image of the sun on the water, Hank adjusting flyaway strands of hair from his face… sorta catches and holds him for a long, flustered moment. He lays down propped up on his elbows, "Hi."

Hank chuckles, equal parts nervous and amused. He puts on what he thinks is a sultry tone, leaning into the way Connor’s looking at him. "Hey there, sailor. What's your deepest desire?"

"That's sirens, Hank." He reaches over for the crab bucket with a smirk.

"I've never lured anyone into the sea and I got the only smartass in the bunch." Hank snorts, shaking his head. Though he’s secretly flattered Connor knows the difference. "You good here? I'm gonna search under us, see how lucky we got."

Connor nods and Hank disappears under again. He counts the minutes on his watch, how long Hank is out of his sight all the way at the ocean floor. He's lulled by the rock of the boat until Hank is breaking the surface. He’s excited. "I found some shells! Gimme my satchel, it's at the helm."

Connor jumps up and jogs over, looking around before he finds the little waterproof bag. He comes back and hands it to Hank, watching him secure it around his chest, "What kind of shells?"

"You'll see." Hank gives him a thumbs up as he dives back under. The splash of his tail looks otherworldly. And it really is. Connor thinks on the image of wispy tail fins long after they’re gone from sight.

He finds himself waiting with anticipation for Hank to come back, excited as well for the find. He's thankful it's a beautiful day, no wind and the sun warm for him to wait wih. The water sounds beautiful as it laps at the sides of the boat, and when he leans over enough, he can just make out Hank's shadow coming back to him.

Hank smiles at him, more carefree than he's ever seen, and braces his forearms on the deck to open his satchel. The shells are carefully retrieved, settled into Connor's waiting hands. They're caked with dirt but Hank's cleaned a few undersides already. He rubs at one, less than palm sized and shining with iridescent color in the sun. They seem to be predominantly white, with pink and green shifts, looking like hidden buried treasure.

"Oh, Hank." He turns one over in his hand, feeling along the ridges and cutouts. "These are amazing."

Hank looks so pleased with himself. That's something their species have in common, finding something beautiful among the dirt. He leans up closer, touching a few shells in Connor's palm, "They're baby abalone shells. I thought I'd find a few odd clam shells, or a nautilus, but this is real special."

He takes one and produces a cloth from his satchel. With that and the roughness of his hands, the shell is easily found under the grime. As it’s revealed, they find it’s different than the others; vibrantly blue, speckled and rippling like gasoline. It holds such deep colors, Connor's never seen anything like it. He watches Hank's hands intently, the familiar way he moves. The texture of his hands is so interesting. They get a rougher, scratchier texture when he’s like this. It’s even visible, little ridges for a better grip. Connor’s fascinated.

Hank cleans the shell until it sparkles, dips it in the water to rinse it off. He admires it for a few long moments, turning it in the sunlight fondly. His eyes end up meeting Connor's and they soften with a warm look, before Hank’s handing the shell to him, "That one's yours."

Connor feels his chest stutter. Hank seems to like it, but he gives it away happily. That gives the little gift more meaning. Hank won't take more than a thank you even if Connor asks if he's sure at least three times. He just says, “It suits you.”  
  
  


Hank swims some more, enjoying the free time out he can have while Connor does things around the boat. He opens up to Connor more little by little, even does a few fancy twists and twirls to show off because he knows Connor’s looking. He talks about a cache of crabs he can pick up at any time, but he likes them fresh to bring back.

He goes and returns with some seaweed and mussels to eat later. Connor happily puts them in the kitchenette. He comes back again, even happier, with oysters. He says he'll put some meat on Connor's bones yet, then maybe he'd be able to swim out here.

Connor chuckles softly, checking in on weather from his phone. No rain, seemingly good for the rest of the week. It seems they’ll have a picturesque time out here. "I have a wetsuit, Hank. I'd be fine, especially where it's nice today."

Hank pauses, patting his belly while he floats on his back. "Really?"

"Mhmm."

He feels a little apprehension, he hasn't swam with anyone in a long time. Connor would be his first human. It feels more intimate than it should be, here with Connor and no one else around. But it's been so easy to share with him. And it's been so long. He truly misses it.

"Would you like me to, Hank?" Connor asks so readily, with a playful lilt to his voice. 

He doesn't know what to do with eagerness like this, it's all very sweet. Connor has been nothing but curious and good to him. He decides like he had last night, that they're past shyness. It could be… nice. "Yeah, get on in here."

His stomach is in knots until Connor comes back. He wonders a little too late if he looks alright, reaching to smooth his scales. Connor comes back, wearing a colorfully patterned wetsuit and he decides, yeah, he's the best looking here. He's barely holding back laughter. "What the hell is that?"

"What?" Connor asks, spreading his arms. "It's to fool sharks!"

"Someone's being made a fool alright!"

Connor huffs, grimacing even as he enjoys Hank's laugh. His body shakes and makes the water ripple around him. "Sorry I can't be shimmery like you! I like my suit!"

Hank takes a deep breath, trying to calm his giggles, "Hoo… sorry, sorry. Oh, I just didn't expect…" he swims closer to the edge where Connor's seating himself, "C'mere, come on."

He feels the heat of Hank's hands gradually come through the lining of his suit, where they grab for his waist. He holds Hank's shoulders and allows himself to be settled into the water. Being this close to Hank is different, looking at him equally face to face when he's been staring down at him all day from the back of the boat.

He brings his arms out to float. Hank's hands stay where they are. "You good?"

"I know how to swim, I'm good." He promises, smiling, "Maybe not as good a swimmer as you, but I get by."

Hank chuckles softly, but anxiety still churns his gut. Connor looks so vulnerable in the water with no gills and two skinny legs. He lets go anyway, watching. "I was born swimming, can't compete."

Connor smiles. It feels good to be out here, feeling the soft movement of the waves, feeling weightless and compression at the same time. He sighs and lays his head back, letting himself dip to wet his hair.

It scares Hank half to death. Seeing Connor suddenly sink past his mouth forces a worried noise from his throat, he’s grabbing to steady him immediately, "Jesus, Connor."

"What?" His brow furrows, laying his hands over Hank's, "What's wrong?"

"You're killing me here. You can't just sink like that." Hank snaps, going to test Connor's buoyancy and then immediately regretting it when Connor dips lower.

"Hank? I'm alright. I can go under, and I can float just fine."

"You need your mouth and nose for air, don't do that."

"Hank." Connor settles a hand on his chest, "I'm okay, really… Have you ever seen people swim before?"

"Divers. But they had gear, you don't." Hank feels embarrassment creep along the back of his neck, but he's just worried. They're all so different, he wouldn't be as panicked if Connor had even just the artificial fins.

"Are you afraid I'm gonna float away?" 

He expects the question to be mocking, but it's only soft.

"Or sink." He answers, not meeting his eyes.

"What would you do to keep one of your own from sinking?" Connor asks, gently kicking so Hank's not doing all the work.

He doesn't tell Connor that they just let their babies sink. They lay on the sand in a safe area and get themselves together. Cole flipped himself head over fin, struggling up from the sand just an hour after Hank had him. It was definitely a moment of pride.

"We um… usually hold them." He thinks of tethers in turbulent water instead, then the easier lovers' embrace. He shakes himself out of that one.

But then Connor asks, "How? Do that, until you're comfortable."

His chest tingles, he can feel the movement of Connor's breaths in his palms. "Connor…"

"I invited myself. The least I can do is make you comfortable." Connor tells him, so sincere. Maybe a little guilty. Hank's heart feels like a beacon out on the water, he's sure it's pounding out confusing vibrations. With a deep breath, he eases Connor closer, realizing the difficulty of a standard approach with the shapes of Connor's legs.

"Okay…" He whispers to himself, leaning back to brace Connor to his chest. He wraps his tail around one of Connor's legs almost timidly, but there’s no objection that comes. He rests his hand on Connor’s back to complete the hold. It's the best he can do given the circumstances but it secures Connor to him, secures no sinking. He feels his face burn anyway, it's a hybrid lovers' embrace.

He doesn't tell that to Connor either, but he waits with bated breath for the shoe to drop on it, as if Connor would somehow know. But Connor just shivers and then relaxes against him, head resting at Hank's collarbone. The water laps at his chin but never over, and Hank's tail gently corrects their weight from time to time. All he can feel is the warmth of Hank's soft body. "This is… nice. And efficient, it looks like."

Hank nervously looks down at him, but Connor's looking at his tattoo. "Glad you approve."

"Do you sleep like this?" Connor asks, and Hank almost chokes. His companion doesn’t notice, just goes on, "I mean, your tail holding stuff? …Hank, your heart's really fast."

"So's yours." He murmurs, feeling it through Connor's back. He slowly moves them into the sun when clouds cover their spot, "Sometimes. For the sleeping thing, I mean… I like hunkering down in the sand more, though."

Connor smiles, "Like your blankets."

"Like my blankets, yeah."  
  


Connor doesn't know how long they're floating together for. They tell each other about their lives; Connor's siblings and hobbies, Hank's life above and below water. Hank keeps them moving around, putting them in the sun, trying to keep Connor warm. He tells him he's plenty warm just from Hank himself.

Hank stops trying to put them in the sun, muttering a little flustered about how Connor can’t keep being so pleasantly surprising. Connor just tucks into Hank’s collar that much more with a satisfied little grin. With his free leg, he can kick a little bit to help them along. Paired with Hank's free arm, they move around lazily. Hank tells him to rest a few times and he listens easily.

He can't stop thinking about Hank's tail trapping his other leg.

He's not scared of it, no… far from it. It’s more the complete opposite. Every so often a wave will rock them and his hips will leave Hank's bulk and then come back, and every time he holds his breath. He’s been attracted to Hank for so long, it’s kind of like a dream come true— literally, he’s dreamed about Hank— for this to be happening. The tail is unexpected, but Connor’s never minded new variables.

He ineffectively distracts himself by asking about Hank's tattoo, and gently touching the speckles on Hank's hip where his tail starts to fade in. It’s fascinating, and Hank's tail wiggles against his thigh. "Got the tattoo maybe… five years after coming on land to live. It was another thing to collect. The starfish is after my son, as a baby he had one latch onto his chest in the same place, and they'd coo to each other. Cutest thing you'd ever seen."

"You have children?" Connor asks, tracing the starfish outline fondly. He got a tattoo with his younger brother on their eighteenth birthday, he understands marking yourself for a loved one.

"Just the one, I was old when I had him." Hank smiles, smoothing more water over Connor's back out of habit. "All grown up now, he travels. Every few years I visit back."

Connor's quiet for a while, the gentle wash of the waves a background hum. "I like learning about you, Hank."

Hank lets out a long breath and his fins flirtingly brush Connors ankle. "Me too."

He closes his eyes for a while, hand sliding around to Hank's back. He feels the shiver but he doesn't say anything about it. He basks in the feeling of floating, of feeling Hank up against him. Hank's fingers mirror his own, stroking his lower back. His hands have gotten pruned but he still occupies them by rubbing Hank's back in return, following a slippery line along his lower spine, another wispy fin. He hears a soft sound fall from Hank's mouth.

"Does that hurt?" He asks, hushed concern.

"No." Hank whispers.

Connor swallows hard. _ Oh_. He does it again, feeling all along his tail twitch. Hank's hand dips a little lower, creating heat. His heart in his throat when he leans up to Hank's ear, "So it's not just me, then?"

"No." Hank squeezes around his leg a little tighter and Connor's lips brush his neck.

He closes his eyes, Connor's other hand slide up his belly, fingers just short of his chest.

"Hank," Connor’s voice purrs against his jaw, nosing at his beard, "Do you want to kiss?"

Hank shudders. God, he really would. He takes Connor by the hip, his arm and powerful tail easing this slim human up without effort, so they're face to face. Connor groans as his pelvis drags against Hank's belly, all round and warm. "Thought you'd never ask me."

Connor presses his mouth to Hank's eagerly, tasting salt and feeling Hank's slightly rough tongue against his own almost instantly. More warmth to bask in. His fingers comb Hank's hair from his face, admiring a small intricately done braid as his fingers run over it. He cups Hank's cheek and listens to the beautiful sigh that he takes into his mouth.

Hank's hands go everywhere, like he's trying to find a spot that works best. Along his sides where the touch earns a ticklish laugh, over his spine for a pleased hum, the round of his ass for a shaky moan. It gets Hank going, a little victory for each spot.

"Sure you're not the siren?" Hank murmurs when they part for air, letting out a soft grunt with Connor's free thigh brushing his tail, "All those sweet sounds."

"Hank—" He brings his hand around Hank's side to get to his tail, water rough fingers testing a glide along the scales. They sink a little bit as Hank gasps, but only up to their shoulders. He's held tighter, hips being slotted against one another. "Mm. God, that's incredible."

Connor kisses him again, more heated, confident. His body flushes with want and when Connor rocks against him, he aches for it. "Connor, that's…" he hums against his lips, sucks on his tongue, "fuckin' sensitive—"

"Where?" Connor pants softly, looking at Hank in the late afternoon sun. All golden, flustered, and arousal hits him like a burning wave. He palms over Hank's hip, dragging up to the thick gray skin that fades the two halves of Hank together. Hank shudders a heavy breath against his cheek, dipping down to mouth at Connor's neck as much as he can. Connor groans and squeezes at the swell of his lower belly, "Show me, come on— Hank, that feels _ good_."

Connor has strong fingers wrap around his wrist. He's guided down between their bodies where a slit has opened up in the cradle of Hank's hips. He slides his fingers over it and Hank's breath hitches at his jaw, hand shakily covering his own to bask in the feeling. He can feel his heart pounding. He feels taken apart by the sounds and they've barely done anything. He coos against Hank's temple as a mark is sucked into his skin, "Right here? Let me…"

He shifts his fingers against the slit, thick wetness coating the pads of his fingers. It's not dissolving in the water and Hank's shaking into the touch, fingers pressing against the back of his hand. "God, it's wet…" He moans softly at the sting of Hank's teeth against his neck and grinds his cock on the back of Hank’s hand. "Hank—"

A low noise rises up from Hank's chest and he finds Connor's mouth for a deep kiss, devouring him with all the new heat in his body. Connor responds so well. A broken noise catches against his tongue and it's everything Hank wants.

Connor tries rubbing the tips of his fingers around, wondering if he can gauge what Hank likes. Hank's fins thrash against him, his hips arch for it. They share a moan. He presses a little more and gasps at the feeling of an opening, letting the tip of his finger slide in. It closes around his finger and pulls him in, both of them losing their breath from it.

"Fuck, god yes—" Hank's voice has dropped so low, Connor shivers just at the sound. He rocks against it but doesn’t let himself get carried away; he curls his hand around Connor's and pulls him away, kissing him sloppily. "Connor—"

"Hank," He answers back while he cups both of Hank's cheeks, pressing hungry kisses to his mouth. He can feel the ripple of water as they move, "What? What is it?"

He sounds so full of want, groping Connor's ass and thigh as he pants, "Do you want to…?"

"Yes." Connor feels little fireworks going off in his head at the desperate tone. He reaches to play with Hank's chest when his back meets the hard surface of the boat. He grunts softly but pays it no mind, wanting to touch.

"Good." Hank kisses him full again. He feels Connor shiver when he unwinds his tail from him. That skinny leg is immediately missed, he was getting used to holding Connor in such an intimate way.

But he pushes at him anyway, helping Connor crawl back on deck. He grabs for the zipper of Connor's suit with it's long orange string. It tugs roughly on the snug neckline in his haste and Connor's back arches, a loud moan ripping from his lungs— "Oh, fuck!"

Hank’s whole body buzzes. He takes the zipper down with more precision and Connor slumps forward, haphazardly getting his arms out. He's beet red when he turns and meets Hank's round eyes. He struggles out of the suit, giving a sheepish warning— "Let's not talk about that."

Hank smirks delightfully, pushing himself up to catch Connor's lips, "Oh, I don't think so."

Connor whines. "Next time."

"Next time I'll learn about how you like being choked, sure."

"Hank!"

Hank pulls himself up on deck and puts Connor onto his back with the sheer weight and want of him. Connor accommodates him eagerly, pulling Hank closer like not even that is enough. It's a messy kiss as he drags the fabric of Connor's tank top out of the way, finally getting chest to chest. The drag of Hank's hand down his side has him shivering, which makes Hank gasp as he surveys the goosebumps. 

He rolls his hips eagerly, the fabric of his boxers getting wet against Hank's tail. Hank doesn't have the patience for more foreplay and grabs at them, pushing them down with Connor's help. Connor barely gets them off his thighs before Hank's fingers wrap around his cock, startling a yelp from him. 

Hank looks down to inspect him, thumbing along the curve. "Not that different." he muses, giving a little squeeze. Connor makes a punched out noise. 

"Is it okay?" He gropes at Hank's chest, sucking ocean water off his neck. He rocks into the odd roughness of Hank's hand, "Do you like it?"

Hank rolls himself more on top of Connor's thighs, shifting up and guiding Connor inside. He's dripping wet and Connor's dick slides in so easily, he pulls his lover in full. He chokes on a moan and Connor gives a strangled shout, grabbing for his hips.

"Oh god, Hank." He presses his forehead to Hank's temple, feeling Hank's slick spreading over his thighs and groin when he so much as shifts.

"It's better than okay." Hank pants, trying to curl around Connor, latch to him. "Fuck, you feel good…"

Connor's head spins, pressing their mouths together on a moan. Hank grinds on top of him, trying to fuck himself on his cock. It’s not enough, Hank isn’t getting enough hold to do it on his own. He grunts and digs his fingers into Hank's hips, moving back until he slips out with some resistance.

"Connor!" Hank grunts, reaching for him again. He kisses Hank slow and deep to soothe him. His boxers are pulled at and kicks to get them down, maneuvering Hank onto his back. He's met with open arms and squeezed him close. He runs his fingers through Hank's hair, straddling his tail while his boxers still hang off one ankle.

"Hank—" he rubs his cheek against Hank's beard and reaches between them. Pressing his words like a kiss against his cheek, "I'm right here." Both of their hands guide his cock back in, and his vision bursts with static the way Hank takes him to the root immediately.

Hank groans, something deep and how it echoes seems otherworldly. The tip of his tail splashes against the water and Connor feels the droplets rain on his shoulders. Hank tugs at his tank top until it's off and then he's palming along his back, pressing their bodies together. Connor's easily manhandled, he'll do whatever Hank needs. He soaks up that incredible heat and pillows Hank's head with his arm, building up to a steady thrust that leaves them both loud and shaking.

Hank kisses him like he's trying to claim the inside of his mouth, pushing up into every move of his hips. The slide of their skin is incredible, he can't stop grabbing handfuls and dragging his fingers across Hank's body, drinking in every deep groan he earns from his throat. His inner thighs drag against Hank’s scales.

Connor feels the tease of Hank's tail near his leg and he nods frantically, his breath hitching against his lips, "Hold me. Keep me here."

Hank shudders and his insides squeeze around Connor's dick. He wraps his tail around Connor’s leg again, keeping them in a full embrace. It makes something deep in his bones rumble, a sort of energy he hasn't felt for years.

"It's been such a long time." He whispers, each of Connor's thrusts tingling up his spine. He holds the side of Connor's face in his palm and feels the smile against his thumb.

"For me, too." Connor's fingers brush his jaw, panting softly in the salty air between them. He presses in deep and grinds against Hank, feeling something inside nudge his dick. "What is that?"

"That's my cock. Keep going like this. Connor, _ keep going_." Hank arches with pleasure, his tail trembling to keep from thrashing. He's glowing again like he's showing off to anyone around that he's mating, and it's a damn good time.

Connor's breath hitches. He doesn't have the brain power to ask, all he knows is that when he angles up to rub against the underside of Hank's internal cock, it tears a feral noise from Hank's throat. It even throbs against him, and Connor feels the end coiling up tight in his gut.

"Holy shit. Fuck—Hank, I'm close." He buries his face against Hank's neck, leaving desperate kisses, "I want you to come."

Hank's hands grope his ass, making sure he doesn't go anywhere. His stomach is clenching with heat and his hole starts fluttering around Connor's cock, sucking at him to take all the pleasure he can.

"Just a little more, just—" he throws his head back, Connor's thrusts turning wild, "Like that, baby. I'm there… I'm there!"

Connor shakes on top of him as he comes, lost to the feeling of Hank's body trying to milk the orgasm from him. His voice cracks and he probably sounds like he's dying, but one of Hank's hands buries itself in his hair and holds him close. Hank can't help the urge to twist and buck while he comes, bursts of pleasure shooting through his body like lightning. They're so entwined Connor doesn't move from him, whispering sweet nothings in reply to his broken groans and whines.

They both breathe heavily as they come down. Connor stays in him until the pulsing aftershocks subside. Not long enough for Hank but Connor's only human. It's so wet between them, most of it a gush of Hank's come and slick. Connor sits up and runs his fingers over Hank's slit, not letting it draw his fingers back in. When he doesn't, something shifts and the glistening head of Hank's cock slides out first.

"Oh." He's in awe, watching inch by inch slide out, all wet and thick.

Hank shivers, "Sorry, I'm still…" he shifts his hips slightly, moaning. "Just gimme a sec."

He's still coming? How long can he orgasm for? Connor feels himself ache, he can't say he's not turned on by that. He leans down and wraps his kiss swollen lips around the tip of Hank's cock, barely getting a thrust in before a little more slick coats his tongue.

Hank almost sobs, hand falling to Connor's hair. He's never had a human mouth on him before, the difference astounds him. It's like velvet. "Oh…! _ Ah _, fuck. Connor, honey, that's—"

Connor groans, bobbing softly. He feels more fluid gush against his fingers and another small spurt into his mouth, before Hank's cock starts receding back into his body. He makes a soft noise and follows it down until he's covering his chin in slick and his mouth is empty. 

He pulls back up and Hank's looking at him with glazed, wide eyes. He smiles sheepishly and swipes over his chin, dips his fingertips into his mouth. Pulling them back to take a look at the string of Hank's come, Hank groans shakily, "Ah Connor, you're so disgusting."

He grabs Connor by the throat and kisses him anyway. Connor laughs, smoothing down Hank's thick shoulders and arms. Hank twists them over onto their sides, talking between kisses, "Why the hell's your mouth so soft?"

Another kiss, "Fuck, I could go again."

Another, "I'm an old man, this is your fault."

One more, "How'd you get so beautiful, huh?"

Connor just burrows closer to Hank's warmth and hums, "I think you're a pretty good catch yourself, Hank."

Hank sighs, relaxing his bulk against him. He won't sleep, they should've eaten hours ago and Connor needs a bed. He snorts softly, "That a fish joke?"

Connor pushes his grin into Hank’s cheek. "It is now."

Hank scoffs at him, but melts into a tender kiss.  
  


They're late back at port almost a week later with their catch, Connor with a limp and hickeys all over his pale neck. Hank hides the ones on his chest and belly much easier. They sell their supply to the inn and a few of Hank's regulars. The two both sit for a card game with their friends and some drinks, and no one dares poke about the quirk of Hank's smile or the shape of Hank's mouth on Connor's skin. They don’t ask, but they don’t worry as much anymore either.

Just something to add to the mystery of Hank Anderson.


End file.
